


Love without complications galore

by Petra



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-14
Updated: 2008-08-14
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: The thing is, Dick knows what operant conditioning is, but that doesn't mean he's immune to it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Betty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betty/gifts).



> Every now and then a woman needs to write a tribute to her default icon. For [](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/profile)[brown_betty](http://brown-betty.livejournal.com/), who beta'ed and who ships them.

The thing is, Dick knows what operant conditioning is, but that doesn't mean he's immune to it. He makes the connection when he's consistently eating breakfast in his bathrobe and talking to Babs within five minutes -- then six, then seven, then ten.

Taking it that extra step to a shirtless breakfast cuts the time down to three minutes the first time. He doesn't have a roommate or anybody who'll ask why he's half-naked at the table. The only person who cares what he's wearing plays him Smashing Pumpkins while he's on the train to nowhere in particular. So she knows he knows, and that's -- what it is.

Doesn't mean that when he eats breakfast without his shirt on the next day and she doesn't call for an hour, that's okay. He gets worried, but not worried enough to try calling one of her secure lines. If something happened to Babs, he'd know as soon as Bruce did, and Bruce would know just after Clark did.

And Clark's faster than a you-know-what.

So Dick tries eating breakfast in what passes for a living room the next day, boxers on the couch and a bowl of cereal. Five minutes, and Babs says, "Good morning," and he grins at the camera he didn't bother sweeping for.

Couple of days like that, ten minutes, twenty, she's too busy to talk long which could be Skinner-boxing or could be the world going to hell in a handbasket.

The catch is, he can't be sure without asking, and if he asks, the jig will be completely up and she might stop playing with him.

Before she gets to the hour delay again, he sticks a comfortable blanket on the couch and eats in the buff, feeling vaguely ridiculous. He still hasn't located the camera, so he doesn't even know which way he should be fluttering his eyelashes.

She calls the second he sets the bowl down. "Hey, Hunk Wonder. You busy?"

As if she doesn't know. He puts his feet up on the couch and gets comfortable. "Not at all."

Which is when the other line rings, and it's Bruce, and it's urgent.

Dick makes a face, but he gets dressed as fast as he can and does what he's got to do.

He's in Gotham the next morning, and Alfred would get pissy if he tried having breakfast au naturel there, so he doesn't risk it.

Babs doesn't call until three in the afternoon. He doesn't call her a bitch for it, but he considers the possibility that she's punishing him on some level known only to her.

Back in the 'haven the next morning, he's got a nice couch all to himself, nobody to bother, and clothing-free breakfast.

Babs waits three minutes and ten seconds this time. "Bored again?" she asks.

"A little." Dick fakes a yawn.

"There are massive dustbunnies under your couch."

He resists -- oh, so manfully -- the urge to say, "And you know this how?"

Better not to ask. Better to go find the broom, and not get dressed at all, and listen to Babs talk about her plans for the day -- a little subversion of freedom fighters, a side trip for Black Canary -- and not look for the camera that's got to give her a really good shot of him on his knees, getting the crap that, yes, really is pretty gross out from under the sofa.

He promises himself that he's going to get her back for this. Somehow. He's not clear on how -- or how mad he is -- but there's some kind of payback that needs to be involved somewhere along the line.

He gets the dishes washed the next day before she calls, and the kitchen floor scrubbed the day after that. By the end of the week, the apartment looks like Alfred lives there full-time and Babs doesn't have any suggestions left when she calls.

"I could wax the floor," Dick says, two hours post-breakfast. He's dozing on the couch when she calls.

Babs laughs in his ear. "That's pretty unimaginative."

"If I dust the ceiling, I might disturb your bugs," he says, and yawns, and falls back to sleep. She lets him.

When he wakes up again, there's a plain brown package waiting for him on his doorstep. He does twenty kinds of tests before Babs calls and says, "It's from me, Boy Paranoid."

"Obi-Wan has trained me well," he says, and brings it in.

The contents make him blush.

A lot.

Later that night, Tim comes over and spends the weekend sleeping on Dick's couch between patrols, jogs in the park, and Mel Brooks movies. Breakfast is a nonissue and boxes full of fascinating plastic are a nonstarter.

"You really aren't happy living alone, are you?" Babs says while Dick is taking Tim back to Gotham on his bike.

"Who says I am?" he answers over the traffic noise.

She turns off the voice distortion and lets him hear her real laughter. 


End file.
